


the best kind of bad

by M0stlyVoid



Series: Drarry Discord Drabble Entries [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Case Fic, Crimes & Criminals, Drarry Discord Writers Corner Drabble Challenge, Fire, Kinda, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, References to Drugs, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid
Summary: Neither of us were known for our ability to besubtle, and it wasn’t long before the Deputy Head Auror’s relationship with the department’s primary Potions consultant was a universally known, if politely unacknowledged, truth in the whole of the Ministry.Hermione shook her head at me but said I looked happier than I’d been in a long time.I was. It wasn’t until Draco’s biggest rival in the Healing Potions sphere went up in flames that I began to wonder at our recent string of luck.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarry Discord Drabble Entries [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663990
Comments: 24
Kudos: 105





	the best kind of bad

**Author's Note:**

> for the april drabble prompt "the less i know the better", with a limit of 322 words. 
> 
> i submitted the drabble at the word count requirement, but couldn't let this particular plotline go, so...here's the expanded edition!
> 
> i recommend listening to Doom Days by Bastille to get your ~vibes right.

I’m not sure I can point to a specific _something_ that made me figure out what was going on.

It started with a trickle, and then a flood, of illegal Potions users checking into St Mungos, some of their own accord and others brought in by MLE Patrol officers, screaming that they could no longer see, their irises leached of all pigment and fading into the whites of their eyes, their pupils gone to grey. What was written off as bad interactions and cross-contaminated needles soon became the focus of the MLEP, then the Auror division, as word of a highly addictive and universally toxic injectable its users called _Goldfeather_ went from back-alley whispers to the front page of the _Prophet_.

It’s as bad as it is because the initial signs were ignored, the victims treated for the obvious outward symptoms and turfed out of the A&E, sent back directly to the dealers with no detox plan and no hope, nothing to stop them from crawling back into the embrace of a drug that pulls them out of reality. Law enforcement turned a blind eye until the son of a Wizengamot member was checked in, shivering, colourless, outlines blurred.

He was the first one that couldn’t be written off, but certainly not the last. Wizarding society is screaming for an answer as its youth are swallowed whole by addiction.

Wizarding society has always excelled at wilful ignorance until the consequences come home to roost.

It was a no-brainer to pull Draco in. He runs one of the premier Potions suppliers in the UK, and he’s best known for innovations surrounding healing potions– if anyone could back-analyse the samples we were able to pull out from the victims’ blood, it was him. He’s smart, professional, and still working past the burden of his actions during the war– no way he’d pass up the opportunity to assist the Ministry on such a high-profile case.

But then, things got complicated.

Draco and me– well, it was probably a mistake to send me to him in the first place, but nobody else knew how to handle his particular brand of infuriating condescension, however well-earned it was. We fought and sniped and got in each other’s way until one day I shoved him against a wall and we ended the scuffle on the couch in his office, the scratches down his back of a wholly different provenance than the black eye I’d received the week prior.

After that, the collaboration became easier. He’d send over daily reports as he slowly teased through the sample, trying to reverse-engineer its contents to both give us an investigatory lead and come up with something to halt its awful progression through long-term users. I’d have to scrub the innuendo before passing them along, but neither of us were known for our ability to be _subtle_ , and it wasn’t long before the Deputy Head Auror’s relationship with the department’s primary Potions consultant was a universally known, if politely unacknowledged, truth in the whole of the Ministry.

Hermione shook her head at me but said I looked happier than I’d been in a long time.

I was. It wasn’t until Draco’s biggest rival in the Healing Potions sphere went up in flames that I began to wonder at our recent string of luck.

* * *

The emergency Patronus alert the MLE department uses to call all available Aurors to a crime scene is among my least favorite ways to be yanked awake, I think muzzily as I shove my glasses on and blink Robards’ secretary’s Mynah bird into focus.

Next to me, Draco grumbles and sticks his head under the pillow. “Shut...too bright. Go away.”

I sit up, wincing as my lower back pops– a reminder of our _activities_ just a few hours ago after we’d stumbled back, drunk and laughing, from a long dinner.

“All Aurors not currently on duty, please report to the bullpen for debrief and assignment in 15 minutes.”

God, I hate Andrea’s voice.

I lean over and shake Draco’s shoulder. One of his hands snakes out from under the covers and bats at me. “No, g’ _way_.”

“Draco, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, hopefully this won’t run too late and we can still meet for lunch?”

He sighs and moves the pillow slightly. “Yes, fine. Now will you please _go_ so I can attempt to get some more _sleep_?”

I cover my smile by leaning down and kissing the tip of his nose, which is all that’s sticking out from under the pillow. “Yes, dear. I’ll see you tonight.”

I make to stand, but suddenly he grabs my wrist and sits up.

“Please be careful, Harry.” His eyes look worried.

Smiling, I lean forward for another kiss, then get up, cast a quick cleaning spell, and start gathering my clothes. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s just another bar fight that’s got out of control– we get those every weekend. No need to fret.”

He looks down at his hands, twisting in the blanket. “Right. Right, just...do try to not run directly in the middle of danger, if you can avoid it? Perhaps try stopping to take a look around first?”

“Aw,” I coo, pulling my jumper on, “see, you _do_ care.” I lean down for one more kiss, then head towards the front door. “Go back to sleep! I’m sure it’s nothing.”

It’s not nothing.

Gritting my teeth, I redouble my Protego and push it out, doing my best to shield the fire brigade as they advance towards the burning building, casting their industrial-strength Aguamenti to try and contain the blaze. Ron’s team is split in half, aiding in dampening down the buildings on either side to prevent it from spreading.

Burke’s Potions and Tinctures, Est. 1835, was now nothing more than an inferno. Early spells by first responders had revealed that at least there were no humans trapped inside, but the danger now is not only the fire spreading, but also any ingredients housed within their labs that may react explosively when hit by flames. 

The Aurors were summoned en masse for two reasons: the fire is simply too big for the brigades to contain alone, and the Burke establishment is currently being surveilled under suspicion for involvement in the Goldfeather distribution chain. The apple, it seems, doesn’t fall too far from the poisoned tree after all, despite William Burke’s protestations that he was nothing like _that_ branch of the family.

By the time the sun is a quarter of the way across the sky, we’ve finally battled the fire down, and the fire brigade has cast enough protective spells to feel assured it won’t restart with a misplaced step. Ron and I direct our teams to start canvassing the rubble for any evidence as to what might have caused the conflagration, as well as any restricted or illegal ingredients. Draco hasn’t made as much progress on the samples as he’d like, but a comprehensive list of anything discovered at a suspect location will only help in the long run.

Ron and I make our way to what would have been the heart of the building when it stood, where the development and testing labs would most likely have been located. The ground is littered with noxious-smelling ash, and we both cast a Bubble-head charm over our noses and mouths to keep from inhaling anything toxic.

Ron spots a line of battered storage containers and crouches down next to the only blue one. “This one doesn’t match the rest, mate, I reckon it’s worth checking, right?”

I nod and hit the box with a Stasis to allow Ron to open it up without disturbing any volatile ingredients that may be stored inside.

It takes a few minutes, but he finally pops the lid off and Levitates out a line of sealed vials, all filled with a dark red liquid. He and I exchange glances, and I grab an evidence bag. He gently moves all six vials into the bag, then labels it with date, time, and place while I seal it up.

I glance around at the Aurors and Patrolmen working through the wreckage. “You alright here? I want to get these back as soon as I can…”

Ron nods, but a smile threatens to take over his face. “Right, you should hurry back to get _the evidence_ where it needs to be. Don’t forget to actually check it in before you run back to bed, now!”

I throw an elbow into his side and wink. “Thanks, Ron. Hey, be careful– Burke’s is one of those medicinal potions manufacturers, there’s bound to be all kinds of dodgy shit out here. Make sure you wrap your feet and hands.”

Ron sketches a salute in my direction, then strides off to meet his team. I check that the bag is secure, then turn on my heel and twist away to my office. Luckily, Heads and Deputy Heads have Apparition privileges within the Ministry– I don’t know what I’ve got in the pouch, but I’d like to minimize how much it’s carried about in public.

I send five of the vials down to evidence to be logged and redirected out to the labs for testing, then wrap the sixth in as many protective spells as I can before levitating it a few feet away from me. I need to record as many details about it as I can for the official report, and unfortunately that means a lot more in-person observation than I’d prefer with an unknown liquid.

I get through recording the wheres and the hows and have just got into the physical description when I notice a folded parchment sealed with a familiar monogram stamped in green wax. Smiling, I drop my quill and pull the letter open, scanning it quickly.

_Deputy Head Auror Potter,_

_Do try to contain yourself reading that, and please_ don’t _expect me to repeat it in any sort of non-professional context without significant motivation._

 _I couldn’t fall back to sleep after you left and went back to my labs– I believe I’ve made a bit of a breakthrough, though not one as significant as I’d been hoping for by now. Goldfeather almost certainly contains_ Re’em _blood– it’s not illegal or even restricted, but it_ is _fiendishly difficult to get a hold of, so hopefully that will aid in at least narrowing the field._

 __Re’em _blood is dark red and has significantly more viscosity than human or Magical Being blood. It also_ reeks _– tell your Aurors to pay attention to anything that smells like an open sewer where there isn’t one nearby; there will almost certainly be_ Re’em _blood spilled in the area._

_I do hope you’re planning on making our meeting this afternoon. I’m expecting you to make my interrupted sleep and this brilliant discovery worth my while– please prepare for liberal application of tongue._

_Yours,  
Draco Malfoy, Potions Master, First Class  
Malfoy Potioneering  
London, Edinborough, Madrid  
xx_

I can feel my face turning bright red as I scramble for a blank parchment and painstakingly transfer all of Draco’s letter but the more… _incriminating_ sections to the fresh sheet. The original gets folded back up and slipped into my bottom drawer. Damn him.

A mostly-professional rundown of Draco’s report thus prepared, I work the cork out of the vial and drop one of the protective charms…

...only to slam it immediately back into place when the smell of raw sewage reaches my nose. I gag and flick my wand to re-seal the vial, then move it back into the evidence bag, pin the cleaned-up report to the outside, and send the whole thing off to Robards’ office with an Eyes Only shield concealing it from unauthorized view.

Picking up my quill and scratching out the last sentences to my report, I marvel at the coincidence– what are the odds that Draco’d pinpoint the exact ingredient found at the scene?

* * *

I should have known that the odds were near-impossible, but Gawain was so thrilled to finally catch a break that he swept the whole department up in his enthusiasm, and we had something to pin on Burke, who, naturally, protested innocence and ignorance of even _possessing_ the _Re’em_ blood at all, let alone its involvement in the makeup of Goldfeather. His pleas fell on deaf ears, though, and he was fined heavily, which was enough to ruin him even though we didn’t have the evidence to actually send him to jail.

I commented to Draco one evening that wasn’t it lucky that the fire had set off to expose Burke for what he really was, and hey, wasn’t he always trying to swipe new configurations from Malfoy Potioneering and sell them at a cut rate? Draco’d smiled at that, a sharp gleaming thing, and agreed that since the fire was non-fatal, it truly was doubly beneficial, even if sounded bad to say so.  
  
By the time the Aurors were called to the next fire, it was already out– it had been a private enterprise mainly run out of one man’s guest home, and the fire brigade were easily able to contain it before we arrived. When vast vats of distilled alcohol were found in a basement storage room, untouched by the fire, Draco was able to confirm that the catalyst was more than likely exactly that, with just a drop per litre of leech juice, which was also present (although common enough to not be incriminating). 

The third fire is how I started to wonder at our timing, but Draco pointed out that once he’d figured out the first component the rest became exponentially easier to single out, and criminals weren’t generally known for their remarkable cunning and ability to think ahead enough to evade discovery, and that made sense and was true besides.

It was so _nice_ to have someone I could come home to and discuss all the details with– as Draco was an official consultant, he was read into all pertinent information and occasionally sat in on our meetings, so even though he was suddenly a lot busier as his name and business got more and more positive press for his role in our progress, he was still always there for me at the end of a long day, to talk through what snarled up in my brain until it made sense, to take my mind off things as best he could, to just sit together while he stroked my hair and murmured about nothing until my eyes got heavy and I could finally sleep.

And so I ignored the way Draco’s letters _always_ preceded him being given any information about what we discovered at each subsequent crime scene yet seemed to match perfectly, the way he locked his study every night now, the way he slipped out at night sometimes, ostensibly to his labs, and came home smelling of bleach and disinfectant. The way he stopped sharing his correspondence with me, citing ‘proprietary collaborations’ and ‘customer privacy’.

None of it was enough to really do more than set off a steady ticking in the back of my head that something was a bit off. After all, he _was_ significantly more busy than he ever had been, and it hadn’t been all that professional for him to mockingly read aloud the pompous missives from the inventory stockists at Mungo’s. And he’d always worked somewhat odd hours, waking up in the middle of the night with an idea that absolutely had to be tested _right then_ and couldn’t wait.

I’d spent over half my life watching Draco Malfoy, though, and I like to think that by now I’m somewhat of an expert.

Something was _off_ , but it took until the latest fire for me to actually _do_ anything about my suspicions.

* * *

“What a fucking mess,” Robards mutters as we survey the scene.

Another Potions manufacturer torched– but this time with casualties, and the smell of charred flesh turns my stomach, brings back memories I’d rather not recall.

Walton’s is the latest in a string of catastrophically destructive purpose-set fires, and if my suspicions are correct…

“Auror Potter! Head Auror Robards!”

There it is.

We pick our way through the rubble to the rookie and the storage locker he’s found. Something green catches my eye, and while Gawain continues on, I bend down and snatch up the fluttering piece of paper.

When we approach, Johnson waves his wand and the locker’s misshapen door wrenches open, revealing dozens of neatly packaged Diricawl beaks.

Robards sucks in a breath. “Ok. Good find, Johnson. Head back and check if Walton had a license for these– otherwise…”

No such license will exist, I already know. I don’t point out that this locker is a completely different color than the others.

“Potter, go talk to your...to _Malfoy_ , and push him on reversing that sample of Goldfeather. If it contains Diricawl like he suggested last week…”

It will. Robards knows it, too– it’s too perfect, too neat an explanation for the addicts in St Mungos literally fading from existence.

I’ll take the excuse, though– spend the afternoon with Draco, let him fuss over the burns on my robes, let his gentle fingers stroke me into some semblance of peace, let his voice lull me to rest as he walks me through what he’s discovered. Let him act like my account of this crime scene is new to him, eyes clouded in concern as he listens.

There’s cleanup to be done here– witnesses to interview, bodies to cover, wreckage to sort. But all I can do for the moment is stare at the scrap of parchment in my hand, thumbing over the stylized wyvern in the letterhead.

I know who uses this crest. And I know why it’s here– deliberately, for me to find. A test. He sent Walton a note on his own stationary to see what I’d do with it, when I got here.

My finger smooths the embossing once more, and then with a silent thought the whole scrap crumbles to ash.

Once again, Draco Malfoy is _absolutely_ up to something. And the less I know, the better.

It’s not like I’m going to stop seeing him or anything.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks and kisses to-
> 
> [tackytiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tackytiger) who helped me wrestle my first pass at this to fit into the word count- which frankly was fair penance because she's the one who enabled me into writing more in the first place 😘
> 
> [bella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader) who helped me in smoothing out the rough edges of this version
> 
> the entire passel of discord drabble commenters and participants who brighten every month!


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